


Fiction

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, for the feels, prepare yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:23:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things aren't what they seem. At least, not for John Watson. One-shot, angst, warning: Lots of feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fiction

Beep...beep...beep...

A familiar steady rhythm...

Beep...beep...beep...

John Watson's thoughts were cloudy...his mind foggy...his memory...broken...

The last thing he could remember...Sherlock's funeral...being hit by that car on his way out of the cemetery...

There was a distant voice.

"John! John can you hear me? Oh my god, doctor! He's waking up!"

A woman's voice, tearful...Harry? He let his eyes flutter open. Yes, it was Harry. He attempted to speak, but his throat seized up. Dry as the Sahara...

"Harry..." he choked out, "Harry, what happened?"

The older woman took hold of his hands.

"Don't you remember?...You were shot, John..." A memory flashed before his eyes, a deep velvety voice...

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John groaned.

"What...? No...that was ages ago..."

Harry sighed.

"Yes, it was ages ago...you've been in a coma, John..."

John narrowed his eyes in disbelief.

"No..." he breathed, "No...that's not possible...how..."

"Well you haven't been completely under the whole time," A new, yet hauntingly familiar voice.

John looked up in shock.

"Sherlock!" he exclaimed.

The dark-haired man studied him, before turning to Harry.

"Don't worry, Miss Watson, he's just a bit disoriented, it'll take a little while for him to adjust...how are you feeling, John?"

John just stared. That was Sherlock. He was certain of it. Well, his hair was different, slicked back and not curly like he was used to, but Sherlock nonetheless. John swallowed.

"I...-I don't...um..-"

Harry stood up.

"I'll just...I need to make a call...so..."

The young man sat down.

"I'm Dr. Harrison, I've been in charge of you for...ohhhh what...it must be going on six years now?" His light blue eyes glittered in the unnatural white light of the sterile room, "It's good to see you fully conscious for once! You've woken up approximately eight times over the past six years, roughly ten seconds each time. Every time I tried to keep you awake you just...slipped back under..."

John cleared his throat. Dr. Harrison offered him some water, which he sipped at.

"I was shot. In the shoulder."

"And the head."

Oh.

"Quite frankly, you're lucky to be alive, John."

John sighed heavily.

"You know," the dark-haired man began, "You've been my only patient for six years. Your sister requested it. She also told me about your name, that your father was a Conan Doyle fan...so...I've been reading to you most days...thought it might help..." he gestured to the battered-looking book on the bedside table. John reached over and picked it up.

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes: The Final Problem, by Arthur Conan Doyle.

Oh.

John felt his heart shatter. Sherlock was fictional. A fictional character. A fictional character with his doctor's face and voice! His Sherlock wasn't real...

"John...are you okay?"

He could feel the tears spilling down his face.

"How," he whispered, clutching the book to his chest, "How is he not real...no...no...he's real...THIS IS JUST A DREAM!"

"John, calm down, please calm do-"

"DAMN YOU!" he flung the book away, sobbing, "LET ME WAKE UP! PLEASE!"

Dr. Harrison called for some help. They restrained John Watson and sedated him, but not before one final word graced the room before he passed out.

"Sherlock..."


End file.
